Skins of a Ghost
by L.S. Blue
Summary: The White girls get an unwanted surprise when the Winchesters show up-with a job
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, I'm L.S. Blue. Before you read this Supernatural fan fiction, I would like to note a few things. First of all, I understand there may be confusion on the character names. The main character is called Samantha White, or, more commonly addressed in this fic, Sam. I named her that because I originally wrote this story as a present for my friend (her name is Sam), and I made her the main character. When I talk about Sam Winchester, I refer to him as Sammy. I realize in Supernatural Sam Winchester only ever lets Dean call him Sammy, so bear with me and look past the sacrilege.**

**Next, I would like all readers to know that I wrote this almost a year ago, and since then my writing has drastically improved. Editing can only get you so far on an old story, so sorry for the out datedness.**

**Oh, and let's not forget to address the age issue: Dean is 18, Sam is 16, Lauren and Sammy are 14, and Ellen (not THE Ellen) and John are in their 30's.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p><em>Sam opened<em> her eyes to darkness. Every muscle, every tiny little instinct told her to run, because she was in danger. Someone-or some_thing_- was in her room, a shadow against shadows. Its presence alone gave it away; tension surrounded it in waves. It was with a forced calm that Sam was able to slow down her racing heart beat and keep still and think for a moment. She was facing the hotel window, and could see the figure. No noise came from the presence, but there was a faint glow to the eyes. Immediately, she knew what it was.

_Shape-shifter._

She thought fast. There was a knife under the pillow, mattress, and in the bureau. A few guns full of rock salt and silver bullets lay in the closet. Yes, silver ought to do the job. The tricky part was moving without alarming it. Well, it hadn't killed her yet; maybe it could wait a little longer before striking.

Pretending to be asleep, she rolled over on her side- hesitating slightly when something creaked- put her hand on the knife and gripped it tight. It wasn't silver, only iron. Wouldn't do anything, except force it into another body, another stolen face. That's what they do: mold themselves into somebody's identity and wreak havoc with every footstep.

Taking a deep breath, she threw off the covers and ran to the light switch on the wall. As soon as light touched the room, the shifter moved, heading toward the window. It was in the shape of a man, tall, with deep chestnut eyes and curly black hair. And really, really pale.

It slammed open the window in a flurry of escape. She was too far away; the odds of jumping him and questioning him were slim. If it got away it would only shed its skin and disappear forever. Aiming with every ounce of effort she could muster, Sam threw the iron knife in an attempt to slow the shifter down. The weapon flew through the air with a lethal speed that could only have been achieved with years of practice.

It would have stopped on its target, _should_ have given a deadly blow through the neck, but didn't. As soon at the knife tip made contact with the creature, it exploded into silver smoke that raced out the window.

Sam, momentarily stunned, stood there in silence. Then her hunter instinct kicked in and she ran toward the window. The knife lay embedded in the ground, the monster nowhere to be seen.

She had been so sure…

"It's a ghost."

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><p><em>"Wait, I'm<em> still confused," Sam's younger sister, Lauren, said. "Is it a shape-shifter or a ghost?" They both sat at a small booth in the town's diner eating bacon, while Sam re-told her adventures of the previous night.

"A ghost I guess. But the eyes… damn Lauren you should have seen them. They weren't normal."

Lauren fixed her with a pointed glare. "Sam, do you even know what normal is? After sixteen years of living this life, you should know to expect anything." She waved a piece of bacon in the air, spreading the fatty smell all over the place. "For example, is this really a piece of bacon, or is it some witch voodoo I'm about to shove down my throat?" She took a handful of the delicious, greasy bacon and jammed it into her mouth, saying something incomprehensible at the same time.

Getting the message to shut up and eat, Sam pushed the crowding thoughts to the back of her mind, deciding instead to savor the moment. It was rare that the White girls ever got a decent breakfast, what with being on the road a majority of the time. The life of a hunter wasn't exactly easy, but Sam took pride in the fact that she was sort of like a hero to a lot of people. It was a good feeling. It usually covered the despair that pulled on her shoulders when someone died on the job.

It was their- Same, Lauren, and their Mother's- last day in the small town called New Hope. The girls had killed a Wendigo just a few days past but stayed because of the damage done to their car. Now it was fixed, though, and they would be on their way back home. Just in time to see their father before he left for another hunt. Being the only permanent Hunters in the state often kept them separated for long periods of time. It's not like evil things planned their attacks around the Whites' schedule. If only life was that easy.

Sam sighed, unable to keep the memories of last night away. She couldn't just skip town without taking action. That ghost was a threat, and it was here for a reason. Either that or it was after _her_. The thought sent a shiver down her back. Sam groaned and rubbed her temples.

The girls' mother walked inside that moment and sat down. She wore a grim, distant expression that did nothing to help the already vast amount of foreshadowing over Sam's head. With a pale face she picked up a water glass at random and brought it to her lips. She took a big gulp and set it down on the table with a slam.

"Mom?" Lauren asked, eyebrows raised.

Their mother, Ellen White, was a small town woman who fell in love young and never really grew out of her teen years. Like most female hunters, she had a certain spunk about her. Being a mother hadn't slowed her down at all, and despite Ellen's fear of the unknown (ironic, seeing what her profession is), Sam liked to think of her as one of the best hunters in the region.

Sam and Lauren's parents met years ago on a job with a pair of cannibalistic ghouls. They traveled together for years before eloping in Vegas and having two kids of their very own. They both refuse to tell the story of how they got into hunting, so Sam's guess is that it wasn't very pleasant. She's just lucky she was born into this rather than finding out the hard way.

"Car parts weren't right," their mother began, "it's going to be a week or so before new ones come in." Her voice was shaky.

That meant they would miss their father, _again_, before he left for a hunt. It wasn't the first time, but still. Sam hadn't seen her own father in over a month.

Lauren sighed, uncomfortably used to the situation at hand. "That doesn't explain why you're PMS-ing all over the diner, mom."

Their mother did not answer, but instead ordered a shot of vodka from a waiter, who gave her a weird look but reluctantly shuffled off to the bar after a brief inspection of ID. A few minutes later the server returned, barely able to place the tiny shot on the table before Ellen swept it up and downed it in a matter of moments.

With a gasp she sputtered, "Winchesters."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, I'm L.S. Blue. I thank you for reading "Skins of a Ghost" and ask that **** you to leave your reviews! Just a reminder, I **_**do not own Supernatural**_**.**

**Enjoy.**

_Samantha had_ long since heard of the Winchester trio. They were like the Hollywood super stars of the supernatural world. Their names were blurry to her, though. John was the father, she was absolutely sure. A lot of crazy tales had been told to her by others about the risky father on the search for revenge and closure. The youngest son was possibly Sam, like herself, and the oldest son was... something that rhymed with Bean.

It was early in the morning, one day after the incident in the diner. All Sam had gathered was that the Winchester family was coming to this town on a job, and that they had some connection with her mother. Sam herself was anxious to meet them, curiosity slowly eating away at her.

The moon shone through the window like a beam of lightning, bathing the hotel room white. Lauren and her mother slept in the small beds. Sam had made her sleeping accommodations in the private room. Their stay in this horrible hotel had been prolonged because of the car, but Sam suspected that the Winchesters were a part of it themselves.

"Get dressed. They'll be here soon."

Sam jumped. It was her mother, staring at her hands with wet, beady eyes. She had been crying. It was sad for Sam to see her mother like this, mainly because she never really did let herself cry. At least, not in front of her own children.

Grabbing a random pair of jeans and a gray T-shirt from her bags, Samantha locked herself in the moldy motel bathroom and turned on a buzzing light. The walls were covered in vintage pink flower wallpaper, with blotches of mismatched colors covering some sections of the wall. Old bright blue towels sat on a rack behind the sink, and in the middle of it all, a giant neon green porcelain toilet with a bearskin top. It would've sent Sam into doubled over laughter any other time, but right now she was too distracted by the nervous shivers racking her body to really notice any of it at all.

The last time Sam had worked with another hunter even remotely close to her age was… well, never. They were all older than her by a lot. And though she was sure none of the Winchesters were sixteen like herself, there were two sons in the family, and that was good enough for her.

A knock at the door hauled her from her thoughts. It was them, she could feel it, and excitement surged from the tip of her head to the bottom of her toes. Placing her ear against the door, she could hear the springs in the beds as her mother and sister got up. The hinges creaked from over-use, and then came a deep, unintelligible murmur. Then another, and another, until the whole room was full of voices rising in incoherent volume.

Slowly becoming aware that she was still inside the bathroom when she could be outside of it meeting the Winchesters, Sam stood tall, took a few calming breathes, and tied the laces of her converse, having no desire to trip out the door. After repetitively smoothing down the front of her shirt, Sam finally reached for the doorknob.

It wouldn't open. She wiggled and pushed on the door, but it was stuck like super-glue. No amount of shoving would open it, and she wasn't about to shout for help. Panic started to rise; not for being stuck in a bathroom, but for making a horrible first impression. _Make the best of it, smooth and suave_ is what her father always said. Right. She would kick it down, hold her head high, and look proud.

She positioned herself a few feet before the door, eyeing the spot just below the handle; the most vulnerable area her small little legs could reach. _Smooth and suave, smooth and suave. _Bunching her muscles and putting the weight on her back foot, she sprang forward in a too-powerful lunge and made contact with the door. A crack sounded as the wood splintered beneath her foot. The rest of the door swung back to the wall, rebounded, and hit her already off-balance body, sending her crashing to the floor. The room swirled around Sam as she helplessly rolled around and finally came to a stop on her back; hands balled into fists, eyes squeezed shut.

When the world seemed to have stopped spinning, she dared open her eyes to the deathly quiet room. A single head blocked her view of the ceiling. It was a grinning young man with short brown hair, wide set shoulders, and just the smallest hint of a beard around his jaw. And he was ridiculously hot. Sam could feel the burning red blush rush into her cheeks. She had never felt as embarrassed as she did this very moment. Re-playing the scene in her head, she wondered how she could have been so unbalanced to have been hit by a door and rolled 10 feet across the room. Lying underneath _him_ was not helping at all.

"Now, that's what I call a grand entry," he said with a cocky grin.

Laughter burst from the other end of the tiny hotel room. It was soon joined by a hesitant giggling very close by. Lauren thrust her head into Sam's vision, smiling from ear to ear. She helped Sam up to her feet. Still feeling a little dizzy, she felt her way toward the end of her bed and sat down with a heavy sigh.

An older man stepped before her, hand held out to shake. A beard circled his round face, and hard, calculating eyes caught her every move. He was the tallest in the room, which made Sam feel three feet tall in comparison.

"The names John Winchester, I'm guessing you're Sam, right?" He shook her hand forcefully and gave a great laugh as if remembering her "grand entry". "These are my boys, Dean," He pointed to the boy who had spoken to her before, and she could feel her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, "and Sammy." A young boy about Laurens age stood in the corner of the room farthest away from the group. Dirty blond hair fell into his grim face, but bright brown eyes shone through like diamonds.

Sam's mother, looking a bit ruffled, stepped up to speak. "Ok, now that that's over, what are you doing here?" Everyone paused. The poison in her tone was something the girls had never heard before. Sam wondered what kind of background story her mother had with these people.

Slowly the men lowered their heads. Silence enveloped the room like a claw and led Sam to the conclusion that something was wrong. Very, very wrong. After a time John put his hands into his pocket and drew out an old wrinkly piece of paper. Handing it to Ellen seemed almost painful to him.

"Dalton Renalds was found dead-"

"With a capital D," Dean said.

"- in his house a week ago. He was a good hunter, a friend who saved my life more times than I can count. From what I hear, his throat was slashed and he received a stab wound to the stomach. Lived right up town from here, too." He paused for a breath, and Sam could swear she saw something glint in his eye, but it was gone before she could really tell. "Are you sure you didn't hear anything?" He asked.

Sam's mother gave a big sigh. "No, we haven't. The girls and I have been hunting a Wendigo up in Garmount forest. Haven't had times to look into anything else. Is there any trace of a break in?"

"Not in the papers, but we were going to look into it later today, the crime scene is still open to investigation."

Lauren had passed over John's paper, which was really a picture. Listening to him talk, she hadn't yet looked down at it, but when she did she found chestnut eyes staring back at her.

It took everything she had not to gasp out loud. It was the ghost, the same one in her room last night. The same pale skin, made paler by death, and eyes that burned into hers with extreme intensity.

She looked up, trying to cover her dread. Dean stared back with a pointed glare, and in turn she gave him a small smile. He turned away, focusing his gaze on his father, but Sam knew better than that. Dean was keeping an eye on her now.

"I'll keep in touch," John said. And without another word the three men turned on their heels and left, Sammy quietly closing the door behind him. The room fell into silence: Lauren staring after them, Ellen sitting on the bed with eyes on her hands, and Sam concentrating on the photo of Dalton Renalds. For the next few hours, nobody said a word.

Sam was the first to break the silence, "They're hiding something. I saw it in John's eyes." Lauren looked scared but strong at the same time, and their mother was still looking a little flustered. Looking at them now, Sam realized how dysfunctional her family was. Parents who barely saw each other but were somehow still happily wed, a 14 year old sister who knew how to cut off a vampire head and burn down a ghost (and really, when you think about it, what's the difference between killing a monster and the normal person they were before?), and an awkward 16 year old who has never had an official best friend because apparently dogs don't count. Well, forget that.

"I'm going out," Sam announced while grabbing a twenty and the car keys. On a second thought she put the keys down and slipped into her sneakers and a pair of sweats. A run is what she needed. No family or hunting or Winchesters; just her and the ground underneath. Nobody protested when she slammed the door behind her.

She got as far as the edge of the parking lot before she started to sprint, letting herself be carried away into the town. People, animals, signs, and buildings all passing in a blur. Pedestrians complained as she sped by them in her hurry to get away. The sun beat down on her head like a sauna and she loved it, loved that she could sweat and run and have fun at the same time. She reveled in it.

And then she was falling, tumbling toward the ground, skin rubbing off on the pavement below, knees and hands burning as shards of gravel bit into them. Pain lanced around her body like lightning. Then there was hands helping her up, pulling at her shoulders and arms. She cringed with pain and someone sat her down on a patch of grass. Searching around she realized she was at the end of a park, a tall shadow standing over her like a statue.

"You're just a big klutz, aren't you?" Him. It was Dean Winchester, leaning over her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes and a goofy smile plastered on his face. Her heart sped up immediately.

"And you just think you're such a cocky bastard," she said. Wait…what? Why did she just say that to him? Cocky bastard? Is that really the best reply she could conjure up? Idiot.

He chuckled, reaching behind himself and pulling up a bag stocked high with bandages and alcohol. "Be lucky this _cocky bastard _has supplies and a car to fix you up and drive you back."

"Well jokes on you, then. I don't believe in luck."

"No?" He asked, pouring alcohol on her now damaged knees. She gasped through clenched teeth, trying not to moan. "That's too bad, because here," he rose up something green in his hand, "is a four leaf clover." And so it was. Four little green leaves spread out evenly from a stem. Until now, Sam had never seen a four leaf clover up close. She hadn't ever had the time to look for them, not even as a kid. Looking at this one, now, was like a miracle for her, no matter how weird it sounded. She took it from his grasp, rolling it between her fingers.

He gazed at her with eyebrows raised, shaking his head slightly. "I think you hit your head on the way down. Come on; let's get you back to the hotel." She allowed him to lead her over to the other side of the street by her elbow. He had to steady her with a hand on the small of her back when she threatened to tip over a few times. Finally they made their way over to a small but sturdy car the color of midnight.

"Nice ride…what the hell is it?" Dean stared at her as if she had grown three heads. Slowly, he walked around the car's hood, sweeping his hand along the rim and keeping a tight hold on her elbow. Making a show of it, he placed Sam in the passenger seat, closed the door, and walked back around to the driver's seat.

"This, Samantha, is the '67 Chevy Impala. One of a kind and free of dents, it is now, officially, my very own." He rubbed the steering wheel possessively. Sam felt like she was interrupting something personal when suddenly he turned the key and the car rumbled to life. It growled with anticipation as Dean pulled it out of its spot and started down the street.

It rolled like a dream down the old bumpy road, and Sam immediately fell in love with it. It was an old car, yes, but that didn't matter. It was fast, it looked good, had a nice hum to it, not to mention a nice driver in it, too. This car suddenly became one of her new fantasies, one that she would not soon forget.

He steered the Impala down random streets that Sam had not run down, and soon enough she figured that he was simply driving for the fun of it, not going anywhere in particular. Strangely, this was ok with her, because the two of them sitting in their seats, silent, had a comfort to it that Sam liked, something she was not used to. _I could be friends with this boy_ she thought to herself. She did not, however hard the temptation, think how crazy this was to believe in and how she had just met him naught two hours ago.

"I don't believe I know where I'm going," Dean said, breaking the silence. She laughed at him, because looking around, she had no idea where they were either. For the first time in a while, her heart felt unbelievably light. Today, it seemed, she was falling in love with a lot.

Suddenly, what appeared to be a spur-of-the-moment notion, he pulled the car into a U-turn and pulled up to an old fashion diner. A giant, neon pig lit the front of the restaurant with the sign Piggly's below it. A few cars crowded around the entrance, but the parking lot was fairly empty. Sam realized how hungry she was (considering she was always hungry), and if she couldn't go back to the hotel, she might as well eat.

"Good choice in direction, though I think the pigs a bit tacky," Sam said.

"We could always steal it," Dean said.

"Stealing the pig from Piggly's. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

He smiled at that, and she smiled back, because she simply couldn't help it.

Together they walked into the 60's decor diner, where waitresses stared them down like hawks. They picked a seat at the far back, the booth farthest away from a man at the bar. He had a trench coat on, and short black hair, and looked sullen, as if he had just heard some very bad news. Coffee steamed in his hands, but his eyes were so unfocused, and his face so twisted with emotion that Sam wondered if he even knew it was there.

"Weirdo," Dean stated, leaning back against the seat. Outside, the sun was dipping low, variations of red bleeding into the sky, and Sam thought about her mother and sister. She had been gone a while now. Would they notice? Probably not. Her mom would be on the phone all night with her father, no doubt, and Lauren would have her nose so deep in a book she wouldn't be able to pull it out. She would leave them to it, and promised herself that in turn, _she_ would not worry about _them_.

"Lauren thinks I should be used to weird by now. She believes that by sixteen, it should be a part of my life." He was about to reply to this when one of the waiters pulled up to their table. She was plump, with bright red hair and dark brown eyes. She scanned Sam and Dean as if scanning a credit card. Slowly the woman asked if she could take their order, discontent plain on her face.

"Pig N' a Pork, and a water, please," Dean said. Sam asked for the same. For a moment they both stared at the continuously dropping sun, leaving Sam thinking again about how peaceful their silences were.

"Weird isn't the half of our job." Truer words could not have been said. Then, "What were you thinking, when you saw that picture of Dalton Renalds?"

She did not hesitate to tell him. "I was thinking about how I've seen him before." She launched into her tale about the previous night, which still hung in the back of her mind like a spider web. A bizarre antonym, seeing as she hates bugs and all their arachnid cousins. Not once did he interrupt her tale, his face a placid mask of nothingness. The waiter brought their meal, at which time Sam stopped talking long enough for her to come and go, quickly stuffing her cheeks with food.

She was surprised when her story turned out to be more than Dalton Renalds, confessing how scared she was sometimes on a hunt, how she never saw her dad, how Lauren had grown up too quickly for a normal girl her age. Eventually she stopped mid sentence, horror growing on her face, wondering what, exactly, she might have let slip, and why on earth she was telling this to Dean of all people.

He did not judge. He did not say unnecessary comforts, or burden her with his own haunting demons. He simply walked around the table, slowly, like the way he had prowled around his car, but with less of a macho man guise, and wrapped her in his arms.

If the suddenness of his hug could be any more surprising, Sam thought she might just die of a heart attack. Certainly she had not expected this in the least. No, she expected something more on the line of his walking out, or a hearty laugh, or a badly cracked joke. This kind of compassion was simply his way of showing he understood.

After that they talked a lot about what was on their minds. They talked about hunts, their parents, siblings and hopes. She didn't know what had connected them on so deep a level so quickly; the hug? Surely not, because Samantha was spilling her guts to him before that. Their similar situation? Maybe. Whatever it was, it worked.

The late hours rolled around, the waiter told them to leave, they gathered themselves into the car, and started to drive home.

Dean didn't seem to be confused as to where he was going this time.

They pulled up to the small hotel. Shyly she said her goodbye, he nodded his. For a few seconds she thought he might say something, but when nothing came out, she opened her door. At the last minute, he grabbed her hand. He squeezed her fingers lightly, the feeling sending crazy sensations up through her body.

"Thank you," he whispered. Before she could comprehend the meaning, he let go, shut the door, and drove off.

Today, it seemed, she was falling in love with too much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, I'm L.S. Blue. Thank you again for the comments! If you want more of my writing, I have an account on under the same pen name (Its original work, no fanfiction). Please leave reviews.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p><em>At the<em> push of the doorbell, a chime set off through the house, loud enough to be heard across the street. Feet pummeled on a stairway before an elderly lady pulled open the door with a yank.

"What?" She demanded, with a scowl of her thick white brows. Gray hair was clumped on top of her head in a somewhat stylish manner, where the rest of her looked like… well, trash. Brown, drab clothes hung limp from her body, tears and holes sewn back together. Dirt streaked her face, and the horrible mixed odor of sweat and vegetables came off her in waves.

"Ahh…" Sam was at a lost. When she looked up Janet Renalds, Dalton Renalds mother, on line she saw a rich woman with maids and a cool temper, not this dirty, scathing woman before her. And now she was here alone, caught dumbfounded, at a loss of what to say.

"Get on with it, child, I've not got all day!" Mrs. Renalds exclaimed.

"Uhm, Ma'am," here the lady scowled, as if this was not worth her precious time, "I'm from Homeland Security, and I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the death of your son, Dalton Renalds?" As Sam held out her fake badge, Mrs. Renalds' scowl softened into something close to tears. Sam kept an unreadable face the whole time, and when the woman's features hardened up enough, she invited Sam in, complemented her on her young looking skin, and told her to sit on the couch while she cleaned herself up.

Sam took this opportunity to look around. She had already gone to Dalton's own house, and found nothing at all except for a bloody mess, no weapons, and no clues as to what his cause of death was. Nothing. It was almost disappointing, really, to think that it might just be a normal, everyday case. But that was the problem, because when hunter's started on a trail, it was _never_ a normal, everyday case. There's always something there, hidden in the depths.

Looking around now, everything seemed fine. Sam peaked in drawers, trash cans, under furniture, everything was perfect. Problem number one. Sam wondered if Mrs. Renalds knew what her son was, and if she partook in the hunter's line of duty.

When Mrs. Renalds came down, she found Sam sitting quietly on the couch. This time, soft, silky linens covered her from shoulder to toe, a nice purple hat to go along with it. She sat herself on a comfy looking armchair across from Sam.

"If I find any more hunters on my doorstep I think I might just explode," she said, startling Sam. "Oh please, dear, you really expect to pass as an official when you're that young? I know you hunters come with some guts, but my gosh, you can't be any older than seventeen."

"Sixteen, ma'am," Sam replied. She gave up being surprised. Obviously this Mrs. Renalds was more educated than she let on. "How-"

"My son always told me that if something ever got him I would have you people breaking down my door. So what do you want to know? Get on with it, girl, I've got places to be, people to see, flowers to plant." Well, this really wasn't what she had planned. Sobs and accusations were the usually jig, but Sam just figured this would be an easier way to pick out the details she needed.

"Mrs. Renalds, please excuse me for interrupting your day, but it's important. Do you know if Dalton- er, Mr. Renalds- was hunting anything recently? Or if there was anyone who might want to harm him?"

She sighed. "Yes, he was. A vengeful spirit that was haunting a house down in southern Oklahoma. Easy work, or so he claimed, but I could tell something was horribly wrong." Her face crumbled like rocks at the sad memory of her dead son.

"He never told you what it was?"

"No," at this her eyes brightened, "but I found out anyway. Old Dalton never was a good liar. Turns out, he'd met up with a friend to bring down the spirit, but things went wrong when they tried to burn the body. In the end, Dalton's friend was killed. Bloody and none too pleasant. It haunted him for weeks, thinking it was his fault. And then it got him."

"… _It?_"

Janet Renalds gave Sam a cold, calculating look. Her face wore the look of disgust, sorrow, and guilt all at once.

"My dear, something is picking off hunters."

Cold claws gripped Sam's heart. Danger signs flashed in her head. She believed Mrs. Renalds because there was no reason not to, it fit like a puzzle piece. Two men, dead, was not a coincidence.

Becoming a hunter automatically put a price on your head from every vampire to ghoul. And _something_ had finally decided enough was enough.

There was always fear. It was inevitable, like Sam and Dean had discussed last night. On this job, you could act tough and glide through a hunt without a tear, but at some point it had to come out. That moment, for Sam, was now. Was it because now there were so many people she cared about, located in this horrible death spot? Yes. Her mother, Lauren, Dean…

It suddenly came to her attention that her mother and Lauren had no idea where she was. Sam had snuck away to see Mrs. Renalds. Her mother was against this case, stating matter-of-factly that the Winchesters were on the job. And being who she was, Sam had come anyway.

"Calm down, child, you look like you're about to blow a gasket. These are knew furnishings, if you haven't notice. I'll not see you to their ruin," Mrs. Renalds' derisive words had a calming effect on Sam, smoothing out her nerves. The sudden need to see her family refused to dissipate, though.

"Do you know…?" Sam let the sentence hover in the air. While she didn't want to know what it was, she needed too if she was going to kill it.

She sighed a heavy, burdened sigh. "No, I don't. I've done my research, checked in on a few people. Now don't you go giving me that look missy, my son taught me all about this business, bless his soul. If not for him, I'd be six feet deep already. Dalton loved his mummy, yes he did." For a moment, her eyes wavered on the edge of despair, and then it passed as quickly as it had come. "I have nothing, except a very small, miscellaneous lead." Sam leaned in, waiting for the punch line that would solve her problems.

"Mandy Peroga. Another stay-at-home hunter. Dalton and her are really the only permanent hunters in the area; Dalton's other friend being a traveler, like I assume you to be. I hear the three were good friends; at some points in their life, anyway, so once again an assumption, I assume poor Mandy to be the next victim." Mandy Peroga… the name struck familiar bells within Sam, but she couldn't pinpoint her memory. She did, however, know this woman was important.

"Well now that I've had my stroll down memory lane, I believe I have somewhere to be," Mrs. Renalds said, standing up. With the sun shining in on her she looked almost godly, and Sam was glad to have met this woman, as articulate as she is.

Before they walked to the door, though, one more question popped into Samantha's head. "Mrs. Renalds, is there anything else that you learned? Anything important?"

She considered this for a second. "Important, no, though I did learn that my Dalton had a knack for Puerto Rican woman."

A little dazed by the weird statement, Sam followed Mrs. Renalds to the front door, realizing again how clean and precise her house was. She must not be home that much to take care of it.

As she opened the door, she exclaimed in a high pitched, angry voice, "Not another one! I swear to the devil himself, I'm done with you people!" Sam peaked around the stout woman to see who it was.

Dean, in all his glory as Homeland Security, was standing on the front step, one hand poised to knock, the other gripping his ID. His jaw was agape, surprised about being yelled at. He had slicked back his hair to look older, which really made him look like a greasy haired idiot. Then he spied Sam in the corner, and his eyes stretched wide. Oh, what a glorious picture it would have made.

"Shut your mouth boy, you're in the presence of a lady and a young child." Sam scowled at being called a young child but at the sight of Dean's continuously perplexed face her smile came back to life.

"Young'uns these days," she chided, "seem to grow hazy at the line of respect and informality. Then again, I don't recall dropping your jaw like an ape to be regularly accepted by the populace." Sam snorted.

"Don't snort you sound like an overfed pig."

Dean couldn't seem to comprehend what this woman was getting at. "Excuse me?" he asked rudely.

"Excuse _you_." And with that she was off, hobbling toward her beat down beetle car. Sam closed the door and stepped onto the step. Both of them watched her drive off down the street.

"Well then." Sam couldn't agree more. Mrs. Renalds was more unpredictable than an earthquake.

"I'm not going to ask why you're even here, because I'm thinking I might not want to know," Dean started. "But I will ask what you learned."

Sam retold Dean everything she knew after her short visit and his pallor grew sickly. He questioned her periodically, but for the most part didn't interrupt. When she was done, they walked over to his car and got in.

"I need to tell my father, he'll want to know. This job needs a quick fix before someone else dies. I'll drive you home."

Slowly Dean pulled the old Impala around and started toward the hotel. Now that things were quiet, she wanted to confront him about last night. There were some things left unsaid and she wanted them out on the table. Now seemed like a good time to say this, but her words stuck in her throat like honey. Sam guessed this was what people called love games.

_Listen to me,_ Sam thought. _Raving about love games. Hah! Love isn't part of the equation, not this time._ Or so she told herself.

"Dean, I-"

"Sam, I-" they both said at the same time.

"You go first," Sam said.

He looked nervous. "Sam, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean to lead you on or send out any kind of signals, I was just trying to thank you for listening to me prattle on about my life story." Oh. So he didn't share what Sam felt…

No. It's better like this. No attachments to unstable things. No Romeo and Juliet love stories. "I didn't take it like that, don't worry," she lied. "And I was just going to say how much I liked your car." At this he smiled and pressed on the gas. Sam let her wishes fly out the window, sure they would not return for some time.

* * *

><p><em>Her mother<em> walked out of the hotel the minute Dean drove away. She gave Sam a stern look and led the way inside where Lauren sat, as predicted, with a voluminous book in her hands. The day she stopped reading would be the day the earth stood still. She didn't even bat an eye as Sam sat heavily at the table. Ellen stood, foot tapping, lips pursed, but didn't say a thing. Before she could question her, Sam asked something that had been itching its way to the surface.

"How do you know the Winchesters?"

Ellen froze, her eyes drifting toward her now non-tapping foot. Even Lauren spared a glance over the ever enticing book, but was sucked back down within seconds. Apparently this conversation wasn't enough to her liking.

"And how exactly did you know they were coming?" Sam stood up, displeased with the way her mother was acting. She put herself in what would have been Ellen's line of vision had she not been looking at the floor.

"Mom, tell me!" a whine sneaked up on Sam just then, reminding her of what Mrs. Renalds said about her being a small child. Strangely this time she didn't care.

Her mother seemed to strengthen then. She gazed up at Sam with hard, steely eyes and clamped her hands into fists. The very air seemed to change into a frosty danger zone. Sam took a step back.

"That is private business, Samantha Sno. I do not want my children knowing every detail of my life. Now where were you today?"

Rather than risk an argument with her mom, she decided to let her questions drop and tell her that she had been shopping for new clothes and that Dean had found her walking home and offered a ride. Lauren looked up.

"You liked your clothes so much you wore them home?" She asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Sam held her head high and marched into the private bedroom, closing the door behind her.

She didn't think her little ploy would get past them for long. They were both smart, and Sam sucked at lying. She was surprised that she had actually succeeded in straying away from the truth this once. She laughed at the fact that she might be getting better. _Let's not lie to ourselves, here. They're simply tired._

Days passed slowly after that, boring and lacking anything of interest. Her mother fretted, Lauren read, Sam daydreamed. About Dean, mostly. About things that could never be, things that fluttered in the wind.

Dean had called Sam the day she went to Mrs. Renalds' house. He told her not to worry about the job because the Winchesters had it under control. He had told her they were on the trail of the monster. Sam found comfort in the fact that whatever it was it would be hiding itself, not hunting down her or her family. Plus, they were good, right? Famous for killing. Or so John was; she didn't know about Dean or Sammy. Too young to tell, she guessed. But everything would be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi, I'm L.S. Blue. I would have had this chapter up earlier, but I've been busy, so I hope it was worth the wait for you guys! Also, this is the longest chapter yet. That should make up for lost time.**

**Disclaimer: Despite my wishes, I don't own Supernatural.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>"<em>Sam, I<em> need you to go to the store," Ellen stated while on the phone. "We need some food before we leave tonight."

Sam was in the middle of packing up when her mother called to her. Ellen had picked up the car that morning, bringing it back clean, repaired, and ready to go. When Sam spotted it rolling down the street, she knew that after riding in the Impala, her car was never going to be the same. That was fine with her. She didn't _want_ it to be the same. It could never compare to Dean's car.

"Take Lauren with you, she's enjoying that book too much." Lauren scowled, her eyes hurriedly scanning the page in a rash attempt to finish her chapter. After a few moments of Sam leaning against the doorway, she slammed the book closed and started toward the door. They hopped in the car and headed down to the gas station, looking to buy cheap, fatty food. Instead, when they got there Sam checked out the magazines and Lauren looked for a slushy machine, neither in the mood to actually do anything useful. Only two other people were in the store: the cashier, and a janitor who stood upon a ladder, loading boxes onto a top shelf.

Sam drifted into another world…

Her and Dean, driving along the back roads of the country, happy and hunting; her mother and father, finally reunited at home; food: chicken, strawberries, sandwiches and Nutella; Lauren, reading a book twice the size of her head; the whole family, normal, content, never having once encountered a monster or ghost; the Winchester boys with their dead mother, only she's very alive…

"AHH!" Bottles smashed and crates collapsed a few isles away from Sam. A girl screamed out, the only other girl in the store.

"Lauren!" Sam yelled, running over to her as fast as she could. The man lifting the boxes had dropped two of them, right on top of Lauren, crushing her with their weight. Her eyes were half closed and a low moan escaped her lips. The man stood on his latter, petrified by what he had done, hands still raised as if to lift the boxes.

"Help me!" Sam snarled at him. The boxes were _heavy_ and it took all she had just to get one off, while the other was removed by the cashier who had come to her rescue, the other man still doing nothing at all. Lauren was dazed and as she tried to stand up, vomiting on the floor. The cashier went off to fetch a mop. A nasty looking bruise was forming on Lauren's temple, and Sam let her lay her head on her lap, seeing as she couldn't move much just yet.

And now the other man was rambling on in his apology but nobody was really listening to him. When the cashier came back he pushed the man out of the way. He handed Sam an ice pack and proceeded to clean up the mess.

"This is gonna ruin my whole day," Lauren said weakly. Sam laughed at the use of the quote from the movie _Avatar_. If she was able to joke about it, it must not be _that_ bad. Slowly so as not to disrupt her stomach any further, Sam lifted Lauren from the ground and carried her from the store, laying her in the back of the car. The box-man came out and tried to shove money on her but she refused to take it and when he persisted she slapped the man in the face and drove off.

Quickly yet slowly, Sam curved the car around bends in the road, trying to get Lauren back to the hotel. Their mother would know what to do. If she had a concussion she would need immediate care. It's funny, Sam though, that Lauren's first big injury had been caused by careless hands instead of some blood thirsty son of a bitch. Yeah, funny.

Sam yelled for her mother as she stepped out of the car. Lauren groaned and asked her not to shout. She yanked open the door and pulled her younger sister out, suddenly feeling as if something bad was about to happen.

Ellen jumped as the girls came in, worry clouding her gaze. She snapped the phone shut and took Lauren into her own arms, delivering her to the couch. Sam went straight to the first aid box and grabbed everything she thought might help. Ellen had pulled up a blanket to Lauren's chin. She checked her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, taking the box from Sam at the same time. Sam hovered over her sister protectively, not sure if everything was ok or not.

"Crisis averted," Ellen said wearily. "No concussion." At the same time, Sam's phone buzzed. After digging for it for quite some time she pulled it out of her pockets deep abyss and noticed it was Dean calling her. Her heart leapt. She mumbled some excuse and ran into her room, not noticing the raised eyebrows from her mother.

"Hello?" She breathed.

"Sam! Thank god I got hold of you! You need to get yourself and your family down to the Peroga's place. 689 Cloverfeild Avenue. Hurry." Before she had time to reply the line went dead.

She walked out of her room, confused. "That was Dean," she told her mother, relaying the message.

"If it's John's boy, we better go check it out, but there's no way I'm moving Lauren."

Sam agreed, mainly because she needed to see Dean, just one last time, before she left. Letting her hopes go hadn't been as easy as originally planned. But if she was going to be a love-struck puppy she might as well humor herself. The other part was because Lauren looked like she would fall to pieces if someone so much as touched her. Sam was just glad that her injuries weren't serious. As soon as she thought it, she got a bad feeling. Leaving Lauren alone suddenly seemed so much harder now.

Finding Mandy Paroga's house was simple enough, it was only down the street a little ways. Dean was sitting on the curb waiting for them, a gun in his hand, eyes narrowed. Even in a bad mood he still managed to look hot. John and Sammy were nowhere to be found.

"Get inside," Dean commanded.

"Why?" Ellen asked. "What's going on?" Dean ignored her, ushering them inside the small house. A woman – Mandy, no doubt – paced in the living room, hands grabbing at her hair, eyes bugged out. Decorative pigs lined the walls, including a glass plate from Piggly's. If things didn't feel so serious, Sam would have laughed.

"Who are they? What do they want?" Mandy practically screamed. Dean ignored her too, and threw guns into everyone's hands. He moved quickly and efficiently in the little room as if he'd been doing this his whole life. Sam took the gun without question, inspecting its contents. Rock salt filled it to the brim, and when she looked over at her mother she saw Ellen held a small hand-held gun loaded with silver bullets. Not rock salt. Sam raised her brows in curiosity.

Mandy was an interesting character. Frizzy hair covered her head and she wore a mismatched outfit. Her nose was long and pointed, like a birds, but other than that she seemed like the average American. Sam thought she saw buckets of water just inside the other room: holy water.

Dean stopped suddenly, racking his gaze over the three of them. His eyes widened suddenly but as he was about to speak John burst through the door, leading in Sammy and a very flustered Mrs. Renalds, dressed in her usual expensive silks and a giant green hat.

"Now you listen here, John Winchester, I'll not stand for this debauchery of yours! You lend me some respect and tell me why you've uprooted me from – oh dear," she said when she saw the half crazed Mandy. She shuffled over to her, petting her hair and leading her to the kitchen.

Then for the first time, Sammy spoke up. "Where's Lauren?" Panic laced his voice. John looked around the room in a hurry. Dean stepped over and grabbed Sam's shoulders, his eye's burning into hers.

"Sam, where is she?"

"At the hotel, she hurt herself…Dean what's going on?" She was scared now, and a storm seemed to descend upon her with raging winds and a thunder of a headache. Her arms hurt with his death grip, bruises surly forming underneath his fingertips. Something suddenly clicked for Sam. Her stomach dropped.

"What is it? What's hunting us?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

John spoke first. "Dean go fetch Lauren. Go!" he added when Dean didn't move. After a moment, Sam ran after him. He didn't argue when she slipped into the passenger seat; gripping her gun as hard as she could because right now it felt as if it would float away, leaving her with nothing to tie herself down with. Unremitting screams built inside her throat. Dean explained everything on the way there.

"So then we found a pattern in the killings. Mrs. Renalds was right, something is killing hunters and we have no idea what in the hell this son of a bitch is. Mandy has been freaking out for weeks now. We wanted all the hunters in the area at one location so when it comes we wouldn't have to worry about anyone…" here he drifted off, letting Sam come to her own conclusion about her own foolish mistake. If something had happened to Lauren she would never forgive herself.

But that wasn't going to happen because now they were here, and Sam was running to the door before the car had even stopped and she was banging down the door and there she was, bleeding from a wound in her shoulder, in a ring of salt, leaning, gasping against the table. And there _it_ was, as close to Lauren as it could get. Dalton Renalds' ghost was starring right at her. And then he slowly turned his head toward Sam, eyes glowing an eerie silver light. Dean ran up behind her, cursing under his breath. A ghost with glowing eyes? That was new to him.

"Get away from my sister, bitch." Sam raised her gun and shot, unnervingly close to Lauren's face, causing the spirit to go up in smoke. She ran over to Lauren, holding her face in her hands, calling her delusional sister's name. Dean risked a jump to the sink outside of the salt line and filled a cup of water. He made it safely back inside and started to clean Lauren's shoulder, washing away the blood. Samantha's sister was not coherent enough to notice.

"Sam, Mrs. Renalds knew what she was doing when she cremated Dalton. Why is he still here?"

Sam did not dare look up from her sister, who was starting to collapse on the floor. With a grunt Sam puller her up into her arms. Dean fetched the salt to give them more room; the three of them could barely fit inside the small rung Lauren had sloppily made.

"Maybe his spirit is attached to something still. An object, a reason for living?"

"Ok, but why is he coming here? Lauren has absolutely nothing to do with this case. Nothing fits. And we still have to worry about the other monster." It was all so overwhelming. Two problems in one.

A ghost appeared just then, directly behind an all too unsuspecting Dean who had gone to get more water. Only, it wasn't Dalton Renalds. It was another person, taller, with a sickly pale complexion and dirty blond hair. "DEAN!"

He turned on his heels, shotgun in hand, shooting out blindly. Rock salt skimmed Sam's arm.

"Two?" he shouted. The second he stepped back into the line, a different ghost appeared a few feet away, this time a young woman. Sam shot at it. Tears had started to stream down Lauren's face before she finally fell unconscious. Sam lay her down on the floor. Spirits kept turning up, each time a different one, and after a few minutes Sam noticed they all had a similarity. When a little boy, who couldn't be older than twelve and made Sam's stomach churn, appeared, she motioned for Dean to lower his gun.

Silver eyes caught the light. For minutes everyone was still.

Then it started to shed its skin.

The ghostly hands reached up to its scalp, fingernails digging into the skin. Layers and layers came off in a disgusting manner, making even Dean look away. But Sam couldn't because she was so entranced and amazed that a ghost could do this. As the skin dropped to the floor it disappeared, leaving nothing behind. A new form pushed up from the old tissue. The…_shifter?..._ groaned through a changing throat. In a matter of seconds the boy became Lauren. Sam felt herself go pale, turning her head to the real Lauren, who was awake and looking curiously at the ghost. Her eyes had glazed over and a feverish heat radiated off her. Sam shook her head, not willing to believe what she just realized was true.

"What the hell?" Dean said. But Sam understood perfectly well now. And if it was at all possible, she went paler.

"Don't you get it?" Her voice shook. "It's the ghost of a shape shifter. This must be what Dalton was hunting before he died. It came back so it could kill him and his friend, but it wasn't satisfied with just them. It wanted every last hunter." Understanding dawned on his face. Sam had to ask the next question.

"Dean? Shifter's only change into a new form if they killed the real person, right?" Her voice broke and she had to force out the words.

He didn't hide anything from her, only shook his head, looking at the shifter with a mix of curiosity and hatred. "Or if they're close to it."

Sam's eyes were rooted to real-Lauren. She was smiling up at the ghost shifter. Blood seeped from her wounds and there were no supplies they could use to stop it. The first aid box from earlier contained nothing helpful, and Ellen had yet to get more supplies. Lauren was doomed.

No. No. No. _No_. This is _not_ happening. Lauren was going home _alive_, not in some casket.

Sam reached for her cell, dialing her mother. When she heard the click on the other line, she didn't wait for her mother to say hello, but simply jumped into the conversation.

"Mom, ask Mrs. Renalds where Dalton buried his bodies!" Some murmuring on the other line, a high pitched complaint, and then her mother: "Down at a lake beside his house. 89 Congo drive."

"Good. Get over here now with medical supplies and guns. We need help."

Hesitation. "What about the monster that's killing hunters?"

"I found it." Sam hung up. She turned to Dean. "89 Congo Drive, beside the lake, burn the bodies."

As he left to go she called his name, feet at the edge of the line, face serious.

"Hurry. Please." He nodded and was gone. The ghost didn't follow him, didn't even bat an eye. It was concentrated on Lauren completely. Sam shot it.

Time dragged on slowly and what seemed like hours and many shots later, Sam's mom ran through the door, stopping dead at the sight of Lauren, who had started to go cold. She was wrapped in a blanket that Sam had jeopardized her life to grab. The ghost shifter now only showed in the form of Lauren.

Sam relayed her realization to Ellen, who believed it without a second thought. John and Sammy were in the room, too, but they were distant to Sam, whose concern for Lauren was growing fast. She was now so pale and still she could already be dead. Sam was too scared to check. _Dean, where are you?_

At one point, Sammy kneeled down beside Lauren, brushing hair from her face. He took over sewing her wounds when Ellen's hands became too shaky, and with tears crawling down his face he somehow soothed her with his words. Sam was too numb to process what this meant.

Sam noticed when the ghost shifter burst into flames, and when Dean came to her side with paramedics rushing into the small hotel room that suddenly seemed too crowded. She noticed Lauren being taken away, noticed when someone lifted her in their arms and placed her in a car that looked a lot like an Impala. Noticed herself nodding off into oblivion.

She did not, however, notice Dean watching after her as she slept.

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><p><em>The sun<em> was bright when Sam came out of the hotel. Birds were singing, people were walking on the street, dogs pulling on their leash. A few cars were parked in a haphazard manner, scattered around the parking lot. One of them, she noted happily, was a '67 Chevy Impala. She started toward it.

Three men sat inside. One older, nearly her mother's age, with a beard around his face and hard eyes. One was younger, about her sister's age, with shaggy hair covering his bright blue eyes. The last one, older than Sam, with short dark brown hair and striking green eyes. All these eyes were watching her approach.

"Good morning Samantha," said John. Sammy greeted her with a nod of his head as he climbed out of the back. Dean walked up to her and folded her in his embrace. She didn't protest. When she looked over his arm she saw John and Sammy heading into the hotel. Dean let her go, but his arm slid down to hold hers. He gestured to a path leading to the hotel's garden and she consented to a walk.

They didn't say anything, neither wanting to really break this great silence that they shared. After a while, though, Dean started talking.

"How's Lauren?" He asked politely.

"Better. She was walking around last night and reading today when I woke up." Lauren had fallen into a coma for a week after the incident. Her earlier mishap at the store had caused a more severe head trauma than originally thought, the Ghost shifter only making it worse. She woke up though, and was deemed well enough to go home. The Winchesters had stayed for moral support which, according to Sam's mother, wasn't their usual way.

"I'm glad. I thought for sure Sammy was going to fall to pieces. He really likes her." She didn't reply, thinking how Lauren and Sammy's relationship had bloomed to something so strong. Maybe not yet a loving relationship, but they would stay good friends for a long time to come. She and Dean exited the small garden, coming out at the side of the building.

"Your right, you know. About weird not being the whole of our job." He looked over at her then, eyebrows raised. "I don't think I'll ever get used to weird."

Dean stopped to give her his full attention. He stood in front of her, unsullied in the sun, looking like a present from God. Not that Sam believed in God. Why should she, with her life? It was too much of a thing to hope for.

"You're one of the weirdest people I've ever met, Samantha Sno White. But you know what?" he asked.

"What?"

"I like weird."

Slowly, so she barely noticed, Dean pushed her back against the hotel. His eyes bore into hers, his lips only centimeters away. Her heart fluttered, blooming in her chest. She was going to kiss him. Right here, right now.

A voice in her head came to the surface. _Don't do it, Sam. It's not going to turn out good. Look at the life you lead_. Go away, she told the voice. Just give me this one chance.

_Don't do it._

"Wait," she breathed as Dean leaned in. He stopped to look at her.

"What? You don't want this?" His voice was nice, no sign of anger or judgment. She felt like she could melt and nobody would notice. If only he knew how very much she wanted this.

"I just don't want to know what it's like to miss it," she whispered. He sighed and rested his forehead on hers. They stayed like that, eyes closed, until somebody called their names. "We should go." He nodded.

Inside, Sammy sat behind Lauren, who had a bandaged head and shoulder. They laughed about some shared joke between them, shooting glances at Dean and Sam still holding hands. Sam's mother and John were standing in the kitchen, discussing shooting tactics. When Ellen saw Sam, she shot her a shy look. Ellen had finally come out about her past, telling Sam how before she met their father she'd had a very serious relationship with John Winchester, back before they were both hunters, in High School years. They'd broken apart when a Djinn killed Ellen's parents and Sam's father helped her kill it. Ellen had fallen in love with him, but always kept in contact with John.

Sam was ok with it. She felt compassion toward her mother, who had found it so hard seeing John again because, even though they kept in contact, seeing him had brought back so many fresh memories. This only led Sam to wonder how young her father had been when he got sucked into this world.

Sam reached for her necklace. Mrs. Renalds had given it to her as a token to remember her by. It was a diamond with silver looping all around it. The chain was long enough to string around her neck twice. At first Sam had refused, knowing it must be expensive, but Mrs. Renalds insisted she have it. She would never forget the old woman.

Bags were piled up next to the door. The Winchesters helped load them while Sam and her mom helped Lauren into the car. Everybody said their last goodbyes, ignoring the glaring room keepers who had disliked all the commotion caused by the Whites. They'd had to clean it up.

Hugging Dean one last time, Sam did not look back as she got in the car and drove away. She did not think of the future hunts, the dangers, the spilled blood. She looked at Lauren, dozing off on Ellen's side.

She would see them all again, Sam knew, but until then Lauren needed her, and she would be there with her till the end.

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><p><strong>So there it is! The last chapter of <strong>_**Skins of a Ghost!**_** Please leave your reviews for me so I know how I did. I really hope everyone liked it, and because I like Supernatural so much I decided to write a sequel. I'm writing it now, and I promise it will be longer and better written than this one. I'll have chapter one up in a few days.**

**Again, thanks for taking the time to read it, it really means a lot. **


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